


Protector

by TheGameIsOn_Geronimo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guardian Angels, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo/pseuds/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was promised a Ward to watch over and protect.<br/>What he got was a man he got far too close to, who broke into a million pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protector

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea on holiday and it got kind of longer than i expected! Hope you enjoy!  
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are my own, sorry.

Castiel leaned against the bare wall, watching the doctors and nurses leaving and entering the ward opposite. His heart pounded in his chest as he listened to the sound of newborn babies crying from inside. This was it. This was the day. He had finally been allowed to become a Guardian Angel. After so long waiting, it was going to happen _now_.

  
He pushed away from the wall and reached for the door, pushing it open with his long, slender fingers. To the humans inside it would look like nothing more than a cool breeze had pushed open the door. They couldn't see him - he was not allowed to be seen, merely a shadow, a silent watcher.  
He started to walk down the rows of beds, head turning left and right to look at the occupants and the tiny bundles in their arms or by their sides. He didn't quite know what he was looking for; having never been told what it was like to be a Guardian. He remembered his sibling's words spoken to him before his descent to Earth: "One of these children will be your Ward. You'll know them when you see them."

  
He lengthened his stride, repeatedly looking right, then left, then right again, panic started to build up in his chest at the thoughts of what if they had been wrong? What if it isn't his time?  
He stopped by the last bed, head turning so slowly, hoping and praying that this was it. The mother was young, blonde and beautiful, and smiling with such sheer delight at the tiny bundle in her arms. The father sat on the side of the bed, mouth pulled into a grin that looked like it would never disappear ever again as he looked at his new child.

  
Cas approached the bed, butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he came round to the other side of the bed. He leaned over the baby, eyes widening. It was a boy. Small, pale and so innocent. Then, the boy opened his eyes, bright green orbs staring straight at him and Cas was shocked backwards, stumbling at the feeling of pure _devotion_ that had shot through him as their eyes had met. Breathing hard, he approached the bed again, slowly reaching out to touch the boy's forehead. He felt warmth and then a spark of electricity went through him as their skin touched. This was it. This was him.

  
He continued to stare as he tuned into the parent's conversation, "Why don't we call him Sam, after your dad?" The father suggested.

  
"No, I want to name him after my mother." The woman - Mary Winchester, the health chart supplied - replied, rocking the child slightly. "What do you think of Dean?"

  
The man merely smiled, leaning down to kiss both Mary and the boy - no, Dean now.  
"Welcome to the family, Dean Winchester." The father said, and Cas stood there and agreed. "Yes," he thought, "Welcome, Dean. I promise to always watch over you."

  
***

  
Cas watched the young boy as he toddled across the room on little legs. He had been a Guardian Angel for over a year now, and each day brought new surprises and shining green eyes.

  
He followed the toddler going on a mission into the hall. Dean had only recently learnt how to walk and now enjoyed using his new found power to get away from the gazes of his parents, even if he was still fairly unstable.

  
Cas' footsteps made no noise on the carpet. During the last year he had repeatedly wished he could show himself to Dean, or even just to Mary and John. To talk with them about their beautiful son, how he reached for butterflies with tiny hands in the park, or how he snuffled in his sleep.

  
He reached out as Dean stumbled, moving the warm air to wrap around his body in an effort to stop him toppling over.

  
Thanks to this action, the child was still standing when Mary walked in, opening her arms wide and scooping Dean into them. He giggled and smiled, reaching to take her hair in his fist. She took him upstairs and Cas followed as the silent ghost he had become, taking up his nightly position at the foot of Dean's crib as his mother tucked him in.

  
As she kissed him goodnight, she told him the familiar phrase: "Angels are watching over you." Cas smiled. Well, certainly one was.

  
***

  
Cas strode behind the running four year old as he dashed down the straight white corridors of the hospital in front of his father.

  
Soon they stopped by a very familiar door to Cas - thinking back to the long wait over four years ago now - and Dean looked up at John with excited eyes as his father pushed the door open.

  
He raced down the ward to find his mum. He ground to a halt when he found her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he stared at her.

  
"Hey, Deano." she said as he wandered closer to the bed, eagerly trying the see the bundle clutched to her chest.

  
Cas came to the end of the bed, behind John who went to the other side of the bed, and watched, a strange sense of de ja vu overtaking him.

  
He watched as Dean scrambled onto the sheets and reached out as Mary held out the precious gift and placed it in his arms, carefully making sure he was holding it correctly.

  
Cas came forwards and leaned in behind Dean. He looked from Dean's face- full of awe and wonder and such _love_ that Cas wondered that if he knew about Cas, he'd look at him the same way - to the baby held in his young arms.

  
As blue eyes looked at hazel, Cas felt a flash of danger, and instinctively leaned closer to Dean, wondering what could cause this small child to have such an effect on him.

  
Younger siblings did not get Guardian Angels. Their safety was their older siblings’ responsibility. Cas realised that Dean had his work cut out with his brother, but silently promised that if Sammy - Sam was the name they'd decided on - ever needed help, he would be willing to give it.

  
***

  
The Angel waited by the swings, standing to attention as always in case he was needed. He looked from the mother on the bench, leaning over and trying to hush the screaming baby in her arms, to the boy sitting in the grass a few feet from him drawing.

  
He took a step forward, wanting to keep Dean company seeing as his mum was giving more attention to Sam at that moment. But how could he keep him company? Dean didn't even know he existed. He sighed - Guardian Angels were not allowed to show themselves to their Wards. Were not allowed to talk, or smile or just innocently walk by them in the street. That was how it was and how it always had been. It scared Cas that he felt differently.

  
He wanted to reach out and touch Dean with solid flesh and bone, wanted to make him smile because of something he said. Wanted him to know who he was.

  
He looked back to Mary - one sight couldn't hurt much, could it? One tiny insignificant interaction in a young child's life should mean nothing, right?

  
So he took a deep breath and dropped the invisible act, allowing his vessel to be seen. He hesitantly shuffled forwards, sticking his hands in his pockets to stop them visibly shaking - if the Archangels found out about this he would be hunted.

  
He bent down next to the boy, heart beating fast at the proximity of them - Dean was so close he could reach out and feel his soft skin if he wanted.

  
He cleared his throat, and Dean looked up, bright eyes meeting his for the first time since he had been born.

  
"Hey, kid. What are you doing?"

  
Dean narrowed his eyes slightly at him, looking over towards his mother quickly before looking back at Cas.

  
"Mum says I shouldn't talk to strangers." he mumbled, continuing to colour in a picture of his family.

  
"Your mum is right about that." Cas agreed - keeping Dean safe was Priority Number 1 after all, so he had to teach him the right things - "I just thought you looked lonely and wondered if you wanted some company."

  
Dean tilted his head to the side slightly, looking far too intelligent for his age of just 4 and a half, "Who are you?"

  
"I'm -" Cas hesitated, he couldn't tell the truth, "I'm Jimmy Novak." he said, deciding on using his vessels name, a false identity. It hurt to lie. "And you are?" Keep up the pretence - you have never met this child before, he reminded himself.

  
"I'm Dean Winchester." Dean answered formally, looking back down to his drawing.  
"Nice to meet you," Cas replied quietly, "Is that your family over there then?" he nodded in the direction of Mary and Sam.

  
Dean glanced over his shoulder at them again, "Yeah. That’s Mummy and little Sammy." he puffed up his chest, "I look after him really well."

  
Cas smiled at the little boy, "I'm sure you're an amazing big brother." he murmured to the ground, knowing just how true the statement was- Dean did everything for Sam.

  
"Yeah I am." Dean agreed, nodding eagerly, "And because I am so amazing, I better go and help make him happy. See you, Mister!" he shouted as he got up to run towards his family.

  
He didn't look back and Cas closed his eyes and disappeared from view. It was almost like he had never existed.

  
***

  
The fire happened too quickly. Too suddenly. The nameless, faceless evil came in the dark, when Cas was least expecting it.

  
He had watched Dean say goodnight to his brother, Mary tuck him into bed and then waited for the silent night to pass.

  
He sensed the danger, turning towards the door as the cold seeped into the house, walking out into the hall to see Mary disappear downstairs. He followed the hall to Sam's nursery, hairs prickling on the back of his neck, and peaked inside, eyes widening at the sight before him; a demon, burning yellow eyes and cruel, cold smile, dripping his own blood into the baby's mouth.

  
He lunged forwards, shouting "No!" as he reached to pull the demon away. But his hands went straight through the man standing before him. He was a Guardian Angel, he should be able to stop this! But the child in the crib wasn't his to protect, and therefore he couldn't do anything.

  
He stumbled backwards, fear and powerlessness hitting him like a knife to the gut. His back hit the wall as Mary suddenly ran into the nursery, interrupting the demon and angering him.

  
Cas' legs buckled, as he watched Mary get lifted to the ceiling, falling to the floor as a slice was made in her stomach. There was nothing he could do. He had to do _something_. "Oh, Father, please. Not this family. Not now. Please" he begged quietly.

  
His eyes widened as John ran in, Dean not far behind. John grabbed the baby and shoved him into his oldest son's arms and that name snapped Cas out of his shock and grief.

  
Dean.

  
In a second he was running, across the room and behind Dean in no time at all, keeping him from tripping on the stairs in his haste, helping make Sam feel lighter so he could keep a hold of him. This is what he could do. It just wasn't enough.

  
He turned back once at the front door, as Dean raced onto the lawn, watching the orange flame lick up the wooden walls that he had thought of as his own home, before he turned and ran out to the most important person in his world, who was thankfully safe.

  
He sat on the car by the shattered family. Eyes alert for anymore danger, feeling jumpy but also useless. This family had been his to protect, but he had failed. Failed. He looked up at the stars, "Never Again." he vowed.

  
***

  
The boy that had seen and lost far too much for his young age shook his head repeatedly at the food choices suggested by his father.

  
Cas watched with sad eyes, soot and ash still clinging to his tan trenchcoat from the fire the night before.

  
The family - battered, broken and grieving- had driven all day to a friend’s house - Pastor Jim to be precise - and were now in a diner to find a suitable meal.

  
It should have been such an easy task, except emotions were running high... And Dean hadn't spoken since the fire.

  
"Dammit, Dean." John snapped at his traumatised son, who was cradling Sam in his arms, having refused to let him go since that night, "That's it. If you won't decide you won't have anything and will go hungry." John growled, his grief and shock at Mary's death being shown as anger.

  
Dean didn't respond. He just sat, head bowed, and the absence of tears made Cas worried. He had lost his mum, he should be crying. Should be screaming and shouting at the world. Not becoming a silent, empty shell.

  
Cas pushed himself off the counter he was sitting on, breezing over to where Dean sat on the brightly coloured plastic seat, and crouching down. He reached out a hand. Wanted to touch. Wanted to comfort. Wished he could be seen.

  
He bowed his head, retracting the hand. There was nothing he could do about this. He had let Mary die and now could only watch his Ward get lost in the waves of despair.

  
He straightened up, rubbing his hands on his legs to give them something to do and to ward off the chill of his own grief spreading through him. He had to do better. Had to make sure this never happened again.

  
He turned back towards the counter, stopping as he saw the waiter bring out the food. He looked back at Dean, perhaps there was something he could do after all. He waited for the tray to arrive, and then quickly tapped it twice, causing a large warm slice of apple pie to appear.

  
Mary had always made pie, and Dean loved it so much, perhaps this would help. John took his own food and then frowned at the pie and looked at Dean, who was peering out from under his fringe.  
John smiled sadly, the boy reminding him of his wife, but also knowing that now he had to protect him with his life. "Here you go, Ace." he said, pushing the pie over to the watchful boy, "Your favourite."

  
Dean looked at the pie and then looked around the otherwise empty diner, searching for the person who had given him it. Then he grabbed up a fork, and started to shovel pie into his mouth. Cas watched his eyes look straight past him and sighed. He could help a bit, but it still felt like he wasn't real. He wondered if he even was.

  
***

  
The red date on the calendar did not change as Cas glared at it. So it really was today. He turned and fixed his angry gaze on the motel room door, willing and wishing it to open. Now, please. Before he got really annoyed and went to find out where the culprit of his anger was.

  
Dean was sat patiently on the old, dirty sofa, quietly watching cartoons with Sam, who was sitting on the floor. Every few minutes, he would look towards the door and then fidget like he wanted to look out of the window. Cas couldn't blame him. This was supposed to be a special day, one that Dean should remember for a long time.

  
It was his birthday. His tenth birthday and John has promised he would be home for it. And yet there was no sign of him. Cas sighed - how typical that he would be back late from a hunt. _Again_.

  
Cas had had to sit by and watch all the times John had let down his sons. He would keep making promises that he couldn't and never did keep. It hurt Cas every time he saw the looks of utter disappointment on Sam and Dean's faces when he never showed up. Cas wished there was something he could do.

  
"Dean." Sam's small voice broke the silence.

  
"Yes, Sammy?"

  
"When's Dad getting home?" The question was so innocent and common, yet Cas' heart clenched at hearing the words.

  
Dean swallowed slightly and then plastered a fake smile on his face after another glance out of the window. "I don't know, Sammy. But he said soon, so he'll be here soon."

  
Sam shuffled slightly on the ratty carpet, "He should be here." he muttered, fingers playing with a loose thread in his t-shirt.

  
"Why should he?" Dean shot back, his voice growing harsher and defensive.

  
Sam looked up at him, "He should be here for your birthday."

  
All the tension drained from Dean's shoulders and he sagged forwards, "Yeah, I know. But he'll be here soon."

  
Sam grumbled, "He always says that." then his eyes brightened, "Can I give you my present now?" he asked, excitedly.

  
Dean blinked, surprised that his six years old brother would have managed to get him a present. Cas just smiled slightly, of course Sam would have bought him something.

  
Sam jumped up and ran over to the bed Dean and himself shared, rummaging under it and pulling out a carrier bag. He came back and sat down in front of Dean again, before pulling out a small package, messily wrapped in newspaper, and holding it out.

  
Dean carefully took it, looking at it like it was the most precious thing in the world and started to prise off the paper. The paper moved to reveal a small, leather drawstring pouch, which Dean carefully pulled open and tipped a silver ring into his palm.

  
"Sammy." he breathed, turning the ring over in his fingers and looking at the tiny engraving of "Brother" on the inside of the band. Cas watched him, warmth filling him at the look of love and appreciation on Dean's face. It must have cost Sam a lot of money.

  
"I..." he broke off, voice slightly choked, "I love it. Thank you." he finished, turning to Sam and smiling before seeing the confused look on his face. "Sammy?"

  
"Dean," Sam said, looking up with wide eyes, "There's another present in here." Dean frowned as Sam removed a bigger, more neatly wrapped present from the bag.

  
"You mean it's not from you?" he asked, feeling the present and shaking it slightly.

  
Sam shook his head, "It could be from dad?" he suggested.

  
Dean shook his head, "You know he's probably forgotten about my birthday." he spat out, the tone full of betrayal. "So, who could it be from then?" he asked aloud.

  
Cas shuffled his feet and swallowed. It had taken a lot of thought to think of that present after he had realised John would probably forget Dean's birthday. Add an awkward conversation to actually get money and buy it, plus stealthily slipping it into Sam's bag after he'd bought his present, so all in all Cas was very proud of his action, but he really hoped Dean would like it.

  
"Open it!" Sam exclaimed, almost jumping up and down with excitement about this mystery present.  
Dean suddenly grinned and ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing a box of LEGO. He turned the box over and looked at the design - a type of Car, before smiling like it was one of the best presents ever. "Well thank you to whoever bought it, because this is awesome!" he said, jumping down next to Sam to share the gift with him, as he tore open the box and spread the pieces over the floor.

  
Cas watched him build and play, smiling all the while. He had wanted to give Dean something that showed how much he cares for him, but he had seen a mother buying a Lego kit for son in a shop and it had just felt right. This was something that ordinary boys played with. What _normal_ boys liked. And more than anything, Cas had wanted to let Dean have a normal childhood, even if it was just for a few hours. Also, Dean having a gift that came from him helped him feel more like a real part of Dean's life, and less like the spectre or homeless wanderer he had become.

  
***

 

A hand hovering over the boy’s forehead gave Cas all the information he needed. Dean was ill. Not just a little “I just have a tickly cough” cold, but a full out, raging fever, flu.

  
He carefully tucked the blanket tighter around the shivering boy, before stepping back as Sam ran back into the room with fresh cold water. He sat down near his big brother’s head and pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, wiping it over his face and neck. The tender action caused a small moan to be released from Dean’s lips as he pushed his head further into the blissful cold.

Cas’ heart fluttered at the noise. Dean had been ill for 3 days now, and all of them had had the boy insisting that he was fine. Now look at him. Cas should have noticed the glazed eyes and the fever reddened skin, but he hadn’t. He’d been too busy cursing John Winchester for leaving his sons alone for _another_ week and inventing ways in which he could look after them if he could be seen.

He moved back to the corner of the motel room – it had become his normal watch tower from where he could survey the room and keep an eye on the boys he had become so attached to. He sighed and bowed his head, he shouldn’t have let this happen and now Dean would be blamed for just being _ill_. Like Dean could control that at all. He looked back to the two boys huddled close on the sofa. He couldn’t explain how he had become so dependent on them. When they were in danger, he got so scared for them; when he had to leave them for even a few minutes, he missed them. When he wasn’t close by he missed their bright eyes, their beaming smiles, and most of all, the love they felt for one another bursting out of their pure white souls.

He glanced around the room, routinely checking the salt lines, making sure all the windows were closed, making sure they were _safe_. As his eyes roamed, he spotted the list pinned to the fridge with the neat, ordered scrawl of John Winchester. He strode over to it, almost tempted to rip the last piece of evidence that John had been here off the appliance. Instead, he bent and read it carefully. It was a list. A list of jobs that included cleaning the guns and doing the laundry. Cas clenched his teeth, a ten and six year old shouldn’t be expected to do things like that while their dad was away – hell, Sam didn’t even know what their family did yet.

He looked back at the boys, Dean had fallen into a fitful sleep again, and Sam was carefully brushing his hand through Dean’s hair – a sign of comfort. He shifted, they wouldn’t be doing any chores before John got back at this rate. He looked at the list again, how much attention would he draw from doing the chores? Could he do it without the boys noticing something was going on?

After those fleeting questions had entered his head, he squashed them down. He didn’t care, this was the only way he could help Dean the moment – by stopping John flaying him alive when he got home. He couldn’t just heal Dean – that would involve him far too much in events, so this was the only way. So what if other Guradian Angels didn’t do this for their wards – he had learnt long ago that he wasn’t _like_ the other angels, rebelling for a human had never crossed their minds.

He marched back into the main room, carefully breezing across to the duffel bags lying at the end of the beds, and picking up the dirty washing. He gave one last glance around the room’s defences and the Winchesters, and then flew to the Laundromat.

Minutes later he was back, striding over to where the guns were lying out on the table, and cleaning each one with one tap of his fingers. He found the cans that John had wanted Dean to practise shooting with and carefully made a bullet shaped hole through the middle of each one, before replacing them in the bag.

He set a pan on the hob of the cheap oven and emptied a tin of spaghetti hops into it. He moved and worked in silence, not drawing attention to himself, not really there if someone had looked, but Sam had fallen asleep on the floor next to the sofa during the time he was working. He was alone; the idea made him feel strangely lonely. Once the food was warmed he put it in a bowl with a fork and walked towards the steadily breathing mound on the dirty carpet. He brushed Sam’s shoulder with one hand as he set the bowl down next to him. Sam awoke suddenly, sitting up in a rush and looking around to make sure there were no intruders, before looking down and seeing the food. He titled his head to one side and looked around, until his eyes shifted to Dean’s sleeping face, when he smiled and bent forwards to whisper “Thank you” into his ear, before shovelling the food into his mouth- that was feed Sammy ticked off the list.

He went back to collect the freshly laundered clothes and re-folded them into the bags, and so what if he washed up too? No one noticed – he was safe. Once everything had been crossed off he returned to his corner, sliding down to sit on the floor where he sat and waited.

The next day, Dean was feeling better. The day after that Dean was back to walking around and bitching about being stuck indoors. The day after that, Dean noticed the list pinned to the door of the fridge with the neat red ink lines crossing off every task. He asked Sammy if he’d done this, but Sam shook his head, so he looked around the room, and maybe the mouthed “Thank you” into the empty air was a figment of Cas’ imagination, but it felt good to know that Dean wouldn’t be being shouted at when John got back. He only wished that he could tell Dean it was him in person.

  
***

Dean was the strong one. It had been forced into him ever since his mother had died in the fire all those years ago, to hide behind a mask and keep your feelings secret. Feelings made you vulnerable. Hide your sadness or worry or guilt behind anger; that always works.

Cas had watched this part of Dean’s training go on and on and on and had never been able to stop it. So now Dean was the strong one, with the face that desperately tried to hide all emotion behind smug grins, jokes or aggressive come backs. Dean was the one Sam went to when he was terrified or upset, thinking Dean could fight away anything. Thinking that big-brother-Dean was Batman and was scared of nothing. Thinking that nothing could hurt Dean. He was invincible.

It was Cas who saw through the cracks. It was Cas who would watch as Dean lay awake in bed at night, with Sammy nestled under an arm when they so often shared a bed. It was Cas who noticed the silver tear tracks being illuminated in the moonlight, as the child warrior cried silently into his little brother’s hair. It was Cas who followed behind him as he sneaked into the bathroom, where he could sob to his heart’s content.

On these nights, Cas never knew what to do. He would just watch as the holes and cracks in Dean’s self-applied armour broke away as the tears flowed. He would cry too as he watched the boy who had too much on his shoulders already break under the strain. He would stand silent in the corner of the bathroom as the sobs ripped out one after another from the mouth that sounded so brave and determined, and feel a piece of his heart break along with every single one.

On the worst nights, Dean would sink the floor, exhaustion from too many emotions making his knees weak. He would curl up on the hard, cold floor, pulling his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face in them, hiding it away, keeping the emotion a shameful secret.

On these nights, Cas moved to sit behind him, sliding into the tiny gap between boy’s body and the edge of the bathtub. He pulled the child into his arms, and if Dean felt anything strange, he didn’t show it. He wrapped his arms around him, offering invisible warmth and comfort, and then dipped his head low over his messy hair, blocking out the rest of the world.

It was these times that Cas felt closest to Dean. It was just them, alone in the silent room. He could breathe in the unmistakable smell of Dean Winchester and know, even though he was hurting badly, he was safe at that moment in time.

On the very, very bad nights, when Dean sobbed himself to sleep on the tiled floor, Cas wrapped his feathered wings around him, and kept him safe until the morning light.

***

The leg closest to him jerked suddenly, the head on the pillow turning and Cas at the end of the bed instantly tensed. Dean’s face creased into a frown as his head turned the other way, his leg kicking out again as though trying to fight off an imaginary evil. Cas recognised this, he knew what this was – a nightmare.

Dean was prone to them, he could have one for several nights in a row and it drove Cas insane that he couldn’t stop the torment Dean’s own mind was giving him. But, he’d been thinking about it all day, and now Cas had a plan.

He took an uncertain step forwards, towards the head of the bed and then paused, biting his lip. This was straying so far from the rules, this was _wrong_. But it was to help Dean? Surely that was _right?_ He shook away his misgivings and came to stand by Dean’s pillow, eyes roaming over the troubled face, before reaching out and touching his forehead.

It was dark in Dean’s mind - an open road with empty streets leading off every few paces, each one leading to a different memory, a different fact or a different dream. Cas set off along the dark, empty highway, his feet slapping the asphalt and his trenchcoat billowing out behind him. He was only here to help Dean, he wasn’t prying, he repeated at every turning.

He stopped and listened intently to the silence, turning slowing in a circle before hearing the faint sounds – an unmistakably sound of a gunshot, a child screaming and someone crying. He broke into a run very quickly, searching for the turning he needed. He hurried passed old wooden sign posts, one read “Teaching Sam to ride a bike”, another read “November 2nd 1983” and pointed to a normal looking house that burst into blinding flames as he ran past. Yet another read “First Hunt” and pointed towards a forest with shadows wrapped around every tree.

Cas stopped again as the noises cut through the cool air, closer this time, loader, more pronounced. He needed to get there. A blast of gun fire caught his attention to the right and in a second he was running again, completely ignoring the sign that read “Failure” and pointed down the side street he’d turned onto.

The road led to a motel, just the one room. The door was ajar; it creaked in the sudden cold wind that sent prickles up Cas’ back. He approached it slowly, suddenly wary about entering. It only took yet another gunshot to change his mind.

He burst into the room, taking in the scene before him. Dean was cowered in the corner, a shotgun clasped in his hands as he tried to aim and fire again, only to hit the wall. On the bed, Sam lay motionless, while a hooded figure bent over him, sucking out his life.

“Stop.” The word was quiet, cold and demanding. It caused the figure to turn its shadowed face towards Cas and start to pull itself away from the bed.

Cas jumped, didn’t even think, just barrelled straight into the living nightmare. This was what Dean dreamt, he dreamt of the Bogeyman attacking and killing Sam while he looked on hopeless and useless, and that was not okay with Cas. Not at all.

He pulled the Angel Blade from his sleeve, lifting it high above his head so its sharp point gleamed in the bright yellow light from the cheap bulb, before plunging it straight into the figures heart.

Its hands scrabbled at his chest for a minute, still futilely trying to move the weight holding it down, before its energy ran out and its life slipped away. He stepped away from the dead body lying on the ground and turned to the child on the bed, reaching forwards and laying a hand on his forehead.

He didn’t look at the boy who had managed to find his feet as he told him “You’re brother is fine, you look after him well.”

The boy stuttered as he tried to find words, “You – you killed it? But I – I. Who are you?”

Cas turned to him, once again taking note of the green, green imploring eyes. “I am nobody.” He recited dutifully, “This is a dream and I am just your imagination producing a hero figure.” The words cut deep, but lies keep people safe after all.

“Oh.” Dean breathed, mouth hanging open in amazement, “Well, thanks my brain I guess.” He smirked to himself, before suddenly frowning, “What do you mean I look after him well? I let this happen! I let him get hurt! I-“

Cas held up a hand to halt the flow of guilt, “You are a very great big brother, Dean.” He told him, voice laced with such sincerity that Dean blinked a few times in disbelief, “You are a very brave human and you will protect your brother whatever the cost, always remember that.”

Dean nodded mutely.

“And now I must go.” Cas had done his duty, no need to stay here with the human who didn’t believe in him. He closed his eyes and opened them to the small bedroom. The boy in the bed looked peaceful and content, just like he should be. Cas turned and hid in the shadows once again.

***

  
 Cas had only been following them on the hunt, traipsing through the snow without leaving footprints or shivering with the cold.

  
The three hunters had been walking in front of him, battling their way through the snow and ice, with loaded guns.

  
Cas had been the first one to hear the rumbling from up the slope of the mountain, had turned towards the sound, but had been unable to shout or warn the family as the avalanche crashed down the hill.

  
Now, he stood on the snow, gaze sweeping across the empty landscape, praying that the family he had grown so close to were all okay.

  
On the wind he heard a voice, the most recognisable voice he knew. Dean. Shouting for help.

  
He was running before his brain even registered he should be, following the voice he had been listening to for 17 years. He found the boy who was almost a man now, trying to pull himself up with the help of a tree, but failing pretty miserably. He was clearly too hurt to stand, the blood staining the crisp snow told Cas that.

  
He watched in the dark as Dean fell back into the snow, panting. He stopped trying and just leaned his back against the tree, shivering hard. His hands went to his leg, pulling up his trouser leg with a wince of pain, to reveal a long, deep, jagged gash down his calf and thigh. And it was bleeding profusely.

  
Cas didn't think. Didn't pause. Dean was too pale, too cold. Hypothermia and shock were serious risks that Cas wasn't going to take, not when he didn't even know where Sam and John were and how long they'd take to get to Dean.

  
He stepped out from behind a tree, allowing himself to be visible as he marched forwards. Dean's green eyes found him quickly through the gloom, shouting out "Hello?" as he came into clear view.  
Cas crouched in front of him. "Hello." he replied calmly, realising he was breaking the rules again, but he didn't care, this was Dean's _life_ on the line.

  
"Who are you? Can you help me please? I need..." his teeth were chattering, "I need to find my family." With that thought, he tried to stand again, but Cas rested a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down again, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through his fingers at the touch.

  
"Hush, Dean. I will find your family."

  
Dean blinked, his eyes slightly unfocused. His shivering had stopped completely. Bad sign.

  
"How do you know my name? Who are you" he repeated.

  
Cas just blinked, green eyes looking into blue, "You lost a lot of blood." he stated, waving his hand towards Dean's leg.

  
Dean stared at him, blinks growing longer as hypothermia and blood loss set in. "You're a hallucination?" he asked, slowly like he was struggling to string the words together.

  
Cas swallowed. Another lie. "Yes."

  
"You're not real." A knife in the heart.  Cas almost fell forwards, the voice in his head repeating _not real. Imaginary. He doesn't believe in you. You're not real. You don't exist. You mean nothing to him_.  
"No, I'm not." he agreed, and was it bad that he could believe that so easily? Because if Dean didn't believe in him, why should he believe in himself?

  
He reached out his hands, pulling Dean into his arms and gripping him tight. He straightened up, with Dean cradled in his arm, and turned back to the empty landscape.

  
Dean's eyes were struggling to stay open as Cas spread his wings, pulling them both into the never-ending sky. He flew over the treetops, the freezing wind ruffling his hair and flapping his coat, searching for a sign of life.

  
He found it soon enough - two voices shouting for Dean. In a way he wished he could fly for longer, he had always wanted to fly with Dean, watch his eyes light up with the freedom of the sky, but he knew Dean needed help. He landed close to the voices, knowing it would take them mere minutes to find Dean as he placed the unconscious boy down against a tree trunk. He touched his leg, healing the wound, but left the boy sleeping. He wouldn't remember him when he woke up. Wouldn't think about flying, or wings, or blue eyes, and that hurt Cas like a physical wound would.

  
He retreated to behind a tree, waiting until he heard Sam's voice shout "Dad! Over here! Quickly!" and  knew Dean would be alright in their capable hands. Then, he closed his eyes and disappeared from view, the words "Not real." still ringing in his ears.

  
***

  
He stood in the shadows, head bowed, as he listened to the conversation that had spiralled so far out of control.

  
The voices of the eldest and youngest Winchester were strained and loud, as phrases like "I want to be normal, Dad!", "I don't want to take over the freaking family business!", "You will obey orders, Sam and listen to me!" and "We're doing this for your mother, You Stupid Boy!" we're shot back and forth like bullets - they were certainly leaving wounds in him.

  
It had all started with a statement. One statement and one letter clutched in the hands of Sam Winchester: "Dad, I've been accepted by Stanford University and I'm going." After that... Well, all hell had broken loose.

  
He raised his head and looked at the frantic green eyes opposite him, standing between the two fighters, desperately trying to hold his family together. Dean's eyes were wide like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, his body tense like he was ready to jump in if physical violence entered the mix, and his arms were outstretched - placating, peaceful, trying to restore balance in a family that had lost it so long ago.

  
Cas kept his eyes on Dean, wanting to do something. Anything, but racking his brain came up with no diversion or solution - this had to happen. And he couldn't stop it.

  
It ended as quickly as it had started. One phrase carelessly thrown out by John Winchester, cutting off his son forever: "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"

  
The youngest Winchester had blinked, opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again as he fought back tears. He had looked at the pleading eyes of his big brother, causing a "No, Sammy." To escape from Dean's lips, before turning, grabbing his duffel bag, and marching out of the too small room, slamming the door behind him.

  
The room was silent, even the sound of breathing seemed muted as Dean looked at his father, then followed his brother out of the room.

  
Cas was frozen, feet refusing to move from this spot. Dean couldn't lose Sam; it would tear him apart to lose that part of his family. But, Sam had made his decision perfectly clear - he wanted to leave the life. And that meant leaving Dean too.

  
It seemed to take him forever to get outside. When he did, he was greeted by Sam standing next to the open door of a car - he had obviously been planning this for a while - his face tear streaked as he looked at Dean.

  
"I'm so sorry, Dean." he said, voice broken and defeated. "I have to do this. I have to get out. I need to. Please understand." he begged.

  
Dean was looking at his shoes, but he nodded his head slightly, before looking up at his little brother. Cas wanted to cry at the look at his face, the unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

  
"I do, Sammy. I do." he told him, arm reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. "You get out there, and you knock those geeks dead with your astounding geekiness, okay? You make me proud, little bother."

  
The ring Sam had bought him all those years ago glistened in the moonlight, and Cas wondered if he should be prying on this precious moment.

  
"Of course I will, Dean." Sam said, smiling despite the tears still trickling down his cheeks, "And I'll call you every week, I promise."

  
"You better." Dean ordered, before swallowing and then abruptly pulling Sam into a tight hug.  
"Stay Safe, Sam." he murmured into his ear, and then let him go, a solitary tear falling.

  
Sam nodded and then climbed into the car, pulling out of the car park. Dean raised his hand in a wave, and then little Sammy was gone.

  
Dean dropped his hand, he suddenly looked so vulnerable, so empty, so defeated, that Cas just wanted to reach out and touch him. Wanted to lessen his burden.

  
Dean turned to the Impala, pulling a beer out of the cool box in the back, popping the lid, and then pulling himself up onto the bonnet.

  
Cas followed, mimicking the way he pulled himself up to rest against the windscreen. He settled next to Dean, his eyes following his gaze up to the stars.

  
Beside him, Dean shivered slightly and pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself.   
Cas watched him, wishing he could wrap his arm around him. He wanted to give Dean warmth, or something solid to cling onto. He wanted to give him comfort and let him spill out all his fears to him, because he wouldn't judge or interrupt, just listen. He wanted to help. Too bad it's impossible for an angel who barely exists and feels so lost to do that.

  
***

  
Cas cowered in the corner, hands clasped around his head, trying desperately to stop the sounds of pain, ripping flesh and despair getting into his ears. Not again. No. He can't let them down again. Again. He wasn't cut out to be a Guardian angel, surely the body being torn to shreds in front of him showed everyone that.

  
It had been his job to look after Dean, to keep the light dancing in those green, green eyes. To keep his heart pumping blood around to muscular body he had watched grow and develop. To keep his soul secure and safe, not throw it so carelessly into the hands of Lilith.

  
He glanced up as Ruby fled, unable to touch Sam, but he couldn't spare a thought to that now. Like Sam's his eyes moved to the lifeless body on the wooden floor. His eyes took in the pool of blood, trickling from deep gashes and slices. Broken far beyond repair.

  
He struggled to breathe, hand flying to his chest, trying to alleviate the pressure there and struggling to understand the lump forming in his throat.

  
He reached out, falling onto hands and knees, a choked sob ripping from his mouth, as he watched Sam pull the limp carcass into his arms.

  
He doesn't hear the sobs from Sam as he cries over his older brother, his eyes are transfixed on the dead face. Dead eyes. Dead. Dead. _Dead_.

  
This is his fault. He should have protected Sam too. Should have watched him from that first moment he had felt the pulse of his dark destiny. Should have helped Dean look after him. Should have tried to push him away from the evil stalking him.

  
He looked up again, watching Sam start to carry his brother out, tears running freely down his face. Soon Castiel is left alone, just his shaking breaths and frantic heartbeat making noise in the room. He should have done better.

  
If Sam had never died at Cold Creek, Dean would still be alive. He would be here, probably cracking some sort of joke about demons. Or perhaps demanding they go to a diner for pie after they had killed Lilith.

  
Another shocked cry came out of his mouth. That would never happen now. Dean would never look just past him as he scanned a room. Would never walk so close to him, but never feel him there. Would never know he existed and was there for him. He would never know. The tears started falling very quickly after that.

  
If Sam had lived, the deal would never have been made, and the Hell Hounds would never have come. It seemed so simple now. He could have prevented any of this from happening. But no. He had let the family - no _his_ family - be dragged apart yet again. Guilt took up residence in his heart. He felt like "Failure" had been plastered across his forehead. What did Guardian Angels even do if their Ward died prematurely?

  
No. He clenched his fists. He wouldn't think like that. He wouldn't let Dean leave him so easily. He would save him. He would get his soul back. He would. He promised. He looked up to the sky, where he hoped his Father was watching - although watching Dean's life, could God really be in control of such pain? - and prayed: "Please show me the way to Hell and give me the strength to bring his soul back safety. I beg you. Please."

  
***

  
The darkness was all encompassing as Cas dropped further than any angel bar one had ever gone.   
The silence was broken by agonised screams, cries of insanity and merciless laughter from demons and executioners alike.

  
He fell into the black, using only the familiarity of the soul he had watched for 30 years guide him through the torturous maze.

  
It had taken him too long. He realised that. Too long to find a way into Hell, even longer to discover how to pull a soul out. Dean had broken the first seal. He had cracked in two by Alistair's ministrations and now continued to rip souls apart himself.

  
But for no longer. For now Cas was coming, finally keeping the promise he had made all that time ago to keep Dean safe.

  
He reached down with his hands and grabbed the frenzied soul, pulling it up, up, up away from the dark and the anguish. Up, back to the light of day.

  
As he flew, he started to put the frayed soul back together, sowed skin and sinew and bone alike to create the body he had watched grow  for decades. He bandaged the wounds and restarted the heart as he thrust the soul back into the body, joining them into one once again.

  
He may have left a mark on the shoulder - perhaps a watermark of sorts. People might take it as a sign of possession - that Dean was _his_ \- but to Cas it was a mark that showed love, but also one that showed that he _existed_ in Dean's life.

  
***

  
Lights flashed and sparks flew as Cas blew open the doors to the barn that was going to become one of the most important places in his life.

  
This was it. The moment that he had wanted for so long. He wasn't allowed to, he knew that so well, and if anyone found out, well, the threat of falling would undoubtedly be mentioned.

  
But he had to. He couldn't stand it any longer. Couldn't stand hiding in the shadows, having Dean's eyes look through him or around him, not at him. He cared for Dean more than anyone else he had ever met, and in watching him learn, Cas thought he had learnt things he had never dreamed of about himself. How you could let your heart rule your head. How you could make you own choices and decisions. How you could have free will.

  
He wanted that. Wanted that freedom so much that it scared him, something angels weren't supposed to have or want at all, but he wanted it. Surely that isn't right?

  
But then again, neither was the feeling of needing your Ward to know you. None of the other Guardian Angels had ever mentioned needing that. They were content to stay out of sight, and just give a nudge here or there. But Castiel wasn't happy with that, so he was going to rebel and disobey for a human. Fair exchange, he thought.

  
Dean thought a demon had dragged him out, how could Cas let that pass? Dean needed to know the truth, needed to know that he was here. That he had _always_ been here.

  
Cas had tried to tell him without showing himself, screaming himself hoarse with words and confessions. He had hoped Dean would understand, that they were close enough that he would be able to listen to him. But no, Cas was once again alone, just a memory that didn't exist, hopelessly giving everything for nothing in return. And didn't that just hurt like hell?

  
So, he marched forwards, vessel in place to protect those handsome eyes. He was met with a knife to the chest - to be expected, he supposed as they thought he was a demon - and hostility in his eyes.

  
But he didn't care, because the green orbs were looking at him. Could _see_ him. And Dean could believe that he was _real_. And maybe, just maybe, one day those eyes could be filled with friendship when he saw Cas, or perhaps even love; so he made Bobby sleep and let the obvious question come: "Who are you?"

  
And in answer, he didn't lie or bluff or make up some stupid identity or pass himself off as imaginary. He told the truth.

  
"I am Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord."


End file.
